My day is coming to an end and although my body is groaning with tiredness, my spirit is flying as high and free as a diamond shaped kite above the blue ocean, on a bright and sunny Easter morn. I could hear the wind whistling through the crevices in the bedroom I share with my wife.
“A windstorm is coming.” My wife says, and I smile to acknowledge her words, but she does not see the smile because she turns to look at a curtain covered window, as the wind whistles again.
As usual, our bed is warm and comfortable and I could not resist the temptation to close my eyes. I close them and immediately, scenes from my day, floods my mind.
Earlier today, as I lie on my bed, I was held captive in a deep sleep, by my dreams of grandeur. The dreams begun superbly, but they quickly unravelled, and I desperately wanted to get away from them.
I struggled to free myself, but alas, to no avail, but just as I was about to give up, the voice of an early morning radio preacher slowly pulled me away from my dreamland and brought me back to reality. I was once again thankful to my wife for sleeping with a clock radio, on. I kissed her in her head full of black hair, and got out of bed.
As I prepared for my days work, traces of my dreams haunted me, but after a breakfast of two toast, cereal and a cup of tea, I was able to shake them off and pushed on with my day.
I kissed my wife goodbye and stepped through the front door and immediately, I lost it. Scattered on the concrete ground, was a large black garbage bag, and the items it once held. The night before, my sixteen year old son was expected to put the garbage into the bin at the roadside.
I turned around and marched to his bedroom. I shock him awake and let him have it. I told him of how disappointed I was in him and I watched as he cleaned up the garbage.
Shortly afterwards, as I was driving through the familiar neighbourhood of one of my co-workers, traces of daylight begun to grace the sky. My heart was flooded with guilt at loosing my temper with my son, and I sighed loudly. I hit the car horn once, and my co-worker came running through his door and we made our way to our job.
I was kept busy at my job for the entire morning, and when a co-worker gave me the wrong measurements and I had to re-cut three pieces of pipes, my temper begun to boil, but it was quickly checked by the lunchtime buzzer.
As I sat in the lunchroom eating, my driving companion sat nursing a pep bottle of ginger ale, and after learning of his spoiled lunch, I shared my lunch with him.
After lunchtime, the work could have gone smoother than it did, but my co-workers and I had hope of doing a lot better the following day, and as I made my way home, apologizing to my son was the main thing on my mind.
As I open my eyes, the images of my day fades. My wife is sitting beside my bedside and she holds my hand. Several grey hair has crept in among the black, and a few wrinkles grace her face. She looks even more beautiful than I'd ever seen her. Our son is standing with his hands resting on her shoulders, and his eyes sparkles with tears. Tears run down my face and enters my ears. I survey the bedroom and more loved ones smiles sadly at me.
At my day's end, I have made peace with my son, and one day I will see him again. My car, my possession, was used to help others and I shared my sustaining food with others. Yes, I am saved, yes, I worked in the vineyard and yes, I have fallen many times, but my Lord always lifts me up.
As I close my eyes on this side of the world, only to open them on the other side, I say to my wife, “please don't cry my love, I'll see you in the morning,” but she could not hear me because it is my mind that speaks, and not my lips.
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